


we drive through the darkness alone and as one

by andibeth82



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Female Friendship, Gen, Gift Fic, Girl Power, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2326985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn’t surprise her in the least that her coordinates could be traced, even over the middle of the Pacific Ocean – compromised line or not, Romanov was just that good, if not better than she always remembered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we drive through the darkness alone and as one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Thank you to [enigma731](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731) for pushing me into this. I owe ya. :)
> 
> Technically set during the events of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and also Winter Soldier, after "The Only Light In The Darkness" - but written as a variation on where Melinda May goes after she leaves Coulson and the team.

As she steers the small quinjet towards the unending stretch of sky, the unease that she’s felt since Coulson started giving her the cold shoulder has only intensified, making it impossible for her to keep her mind clear in a way that would normally be second nature. She lets her thoughts percolate for longer than she wants to admit before finally grabbing for her phone when she feels she has good enough control on navigation, her fingers tapping restlessly against the keys.

_I need to see you._

She’s not even sure what’s considered a secure line anymore, but as she types out the words, she decides she doesn’t really care. A few seconds of immeasurable time pass, and then her phone pings once, softly, the screen lighting up like a beacon in an otherwise lost night.

_S 8’46’59.502, W 124’30’30.682_

Melinda frowns, double-checking her own information, and feels her lips curl into a smile as she verifies the corresponding numbers. It shouldn’t surprise her in the least that her coordinates could be traced, even over the middle of the Pacific Ocean – compromised line or not, Romanov was just that good, if not better than she always remembered.

_You have two hours. Hub 36. Meet me at the coffee shop._

Melinda grits her teeth together and pushes the jet forward through the clouds that are starting to feel more like a suffocating blanket than the open expanse of atmosphere that she’s always felt so comfortable being immersed in, even from the inside the small cockpit of a plane, where it seemed impossible to escape the sensation of the walls always closing in around her.

 

***

 

When she steps off the quinjet and into the dust and heat of New Mexico, there’s no sign of immediate life or sound, save for the occasional animal noises and few cars that sputter by on one of the main roads a few yards away. Hub 36 has been a deserted S.H.I.E.L.D. base for more than a few years, already scarce and made even scarcer by Hydra’s actions – and although she might never say it out loud, in Melinda’s eyes, the dwindling of the last few remaining safe areas are a worse blow than the catastrophe that she knows happened in D.C.

She sinks to her knees, the hot leather of her tact suit pressing painfully into her skin like a rubber vice, like it’s the only thing left that’s holding her together. She runs her hands aimlessly through the desert sand, and thinks that for the first time she might actually relish the fact that she’s truly alone in a way she usually can only be in the cockpit or in her quarters.

“Well, this is awkward.”

Melinda straightens at the sound of the voice behind her, her back arching as she finds her balance and turns around on her heel.

“You said to meet at the coffee shop,” Melinda says, stepping forward with crossed arms. Natasha shrugs, long strands of red bleeding into the crimson leather of her jacket.

“I saw you land while I was on my way, and figured you could use a ride.” She stops, tilting her head. “You _could_ use a ride, yes?”

Melinda huffs out a smile that feels like it doesn’t fully form, falling into step as Natasha starts to walk briskly, shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Good to see you too, Romanov.”

 

***

 

Approximately half an hour later, they’re tucked into a corner booth at the gas station’s coffee shop down the road, and Natasha is stirring sugar into her cup a little too vigorously. Melinda had seen enough footage from the press conference, had seen enough of Natasha’s display of professionalism after S.H.I.E.L.D.’s downfall, but she wasn’t so naive to think or know that holding it together was easy – or for that matter, a truthful demonstration of her feelings.

She waits a comfortable few moments before speaking, allowing the other woman a chance to take hold of the conversation, barreling forward when she doesn’t.

“Fury?”

“Off the grid until further notice,” Natasha says a little curtly, and Melinda presses her lips together, clamping down on the words she wants to say but doesn’t know how.

“And Cap?”

Natasha twirls her spoon. “On his own. I’m sure he can get in touch if he needs to, but he knows he’s done enough, for now.”

“And you?”

Natasha’s head snaps up at that, her eyes narrowing, and Melinda suddenly thinks she knows what it means when people have said they “haven’t seen scores like yours since Romanov.”

“I’m right here,” she says, not offering anything else of substance. Melinda sighs, looking down at the badly patterned table, the stains on the counter from what she assumes is a leftover contribution from a child’s broken crayon.

“My partner hates me.”

“Join the club,” Natasha intones dryly as Melinda raises an eyebrow.

“Barton _left_ you.”

“Because I told him to,” Natasha replies with a small shrug. “Because it wasn’t safe, and because I didn’t want him here while I dealt with…this. With all of this.” She pauses, biting her lip. “It’s better, anyway. He’s doing his own thing, and he trusts me enough to know that I’ll find him again when the time is right.”

There’s something more to her words, something that Melinda knows she’s not saying, though she can’t quite figure it out. “But?” she prompts, pushing hair out of her eyes, as if seeing more clearly will help her understand the conversation. Natasha sighs.

“But, he doesn’t like the fact that we’re separated with all of this Hydra stuff going on. I don’t, either, but I don’t have a choice.” She takes a careful sip of coffee, her voice softening just enough. “I don’t trust a lot of people right now, but I do trust him, and I can’t afford to lose that.”

Melinda nods, reaching for a napkin and folding the ends into small triangles with her thumbs.

“Why did you trust Fury?” Natasha asks after a moment of silence, and Melinda squares her jaw against the question she feels she’s been waiting for.

“Are you asking for yourself or for me?”

Natasha seems to startle at that, more than Melinda would expect, and the action causes her to wonder just how much Natasha has been pushed to the edge recently, moreso than the bullet wound that she can guess exists purely from the way Natasha favors movement on her left side.

“Doesn’t matter. I want to know.”

Melinda shakes her head. “Why?”

“Because he lied to you,” Natasha bites out harshly, putting her hands on the table. “Because he made you lie to other people. And because while you were doing it, you didn’t question your own actions.”

“Until a few days ago, I was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I didn’t have to question my own actions,” Melinda responds just as hotly, raising her voice as much as she dares in the quiet space before catching hold of her emotions. She leans back in the booth, considering her words before she continues.

“Look, I had a team to protect. And I didn’t have anyone else.” She pauses, eying her companion warily. “You know what that’s like.”

Natasha flexes her fingers, swallowing. “I do,” she says with a small tremor to her voice, and Melinda tries to read the stutter of emotions behind her eyes, the ones that she knows Natasha keeps hidden from most people except Clint Barton. Except Maria Hill.

Except Nick Fury.

Melinda exhales, closing her eyes. “But he didn’t tell you he was alive.”

“No,” Natasha says after a long beat, and when she speaks her voice is hoarse, and she sounds like she’s guarding a secret that she’s not sure she should share in someone else’s presence, like she’s scared of the consequences of saying things out loud now that anything and everything is fair game. “Not…not the way I would have thought.”

Melinda sticks her tongue inside her cheek. “Well,” she says, sitting up straighter. “He didn’t tell me, either.” She downs the rest of her coffee in one gulp, before finding Natasha’s gaze again.

“So I guess that makes us even.”

 

***

 

“Take a trip with me,” Melinda says after they leave the coffee shop, and the words are out of her mouth before she realizes she’s even said them. Natasha stops in the middle of readjusting her jacket, and lowers an upraised foot to the ground slowly, as if she needs to physically steady herself.

“To where?”

Melinda shrugs, waving her hand. “I don’t know. But there’s gotta be somewhere we can bum around for a bit. I don’t want to go back to Coulson for awhile, you don’t want to keep traveling alone, and to be honest, I could use the company.”

Natasha leans back against the car and stares at the ground, playing with the stem of the small handgun that Melinda knows is hidden underneath her the folds of her coat. “Yeah,” she says when she finally speaks. “Me too.”

“Good.” Melinda pulls the car door open, watching Natasha edge into the passenger seat without protest, and turns the key sharply with one hand. “But if you’re okay with it, we’re making one stop first.”

“More coffee?” Natasha asks dryly, and Melinda can’t help but smirk as she backs up the car into a dusty cloud of exhaust and dirt.

“Not exactly.”

 

***

 

Maria Hill meets them at a rest stop along the stretch of Highway 25, halfway between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, looking, Melinda decides, exceedingly out of place in an all black wardrobe, with a small duffel bag hoisted over one shoulder.

“Where’s the Cavalry?” she asks sardonically as Melinda slows the car in her approach, rolling down the window.

“You just found her,” she responds, pressing the lock on the door, allowing Maria to slide into the backseat. “Everything okay with Stark?”

“Everything’s fine,” Maria responds without continuing in further detail. She nods in the direction of the front seat. “I see you found Romanov.”

“No one finds me,” Natasha says, her eyes obscured by a pair of sunglasses. “Unless I want to be found.”

 

***

 

They stop just before they reach the border, pulling off the road at another rest station where Melinda gets out to stretch her legs, and Natasha disappears to the bathroom to change.

“You sure you don’t want some of my stuff?” Maria asks after Natasha walks off, as Melinda tugs at the arms of her suit.

“I’m more comfortable in this for now,” she replies, looking down. Out of her peripheral vision, she sees Maria cross her arms.

“I take it Coulson didn’t apologize.”

“I left before he had a chance to, really,” Melinda admits. “Though, it wasn’t like he gave me much choice in the matter.”

Maria sighs, running a hand through her hair. “He’ll come around. He may be angry, but he’s not dumb.”

“I know,” Melinda responds, unable to keep the bitterness out of her tone. “That’s the problem.” She scuffs a foot into the ground, drawing small, circular patterns with her toe. “Does Fury know –”

“That I’m more or less taking a vacation from Stark to help hunt down Hydra agents? No, not really,” Maria breaks in, and Melinda can feel her eyes carefully dissecting her demeanor.

“I see that situation hurt you, too.”

“No,” Melinda repeats with an edge to her voice. “I protected my team, and that’s all I care about.” She raises her head, sneaking a glance towards the bathrooms. “But Romanov…I think he really did a number on her, taking advantage of her trust like that.”

Maria rubs a hand over her face, and in the dim natural light of the desert, Melinda thinks that she can see the faint outline of stars splayed out on the canvas of sky behind her head.

“I had been at S.H.I.E.L.D. for three months before they brought her in,” she says quietly, training her eyes into the distance, as Natasha emerges from the bathroom a few yards away. “Barton was the one that insisted she be watched under his care, rather than myself or another senior agent. It’s…complicated, their history. It’s not something I ever tried to understand or involve myself in.” She bites down on her lip before continuing. “But I do know Nick cared about her like she was his daughter. And I can tell you that he never cared about anyone like that. Not even me.”

Melinda remains silent as Natasha approaches the car, shifting to allow the redhead access to the side door.

“Are you finished gossiping about my well-being?” Natasha asks lightly as she throws a pile of clothes onto the seat, and there’s something in her tone that tells Melinda she knows exactly what they’ve been talking about in her absence. Maria clears her throat.

“Just discussing our options.”

“And what are those?” Natasha asks, putting her hands on her hips. “Because all I see is a desert and three former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and a lot of potential ways to get killed. Not to mention a hell of a long ride before I’m going to be able to have another coffee.”

“Lucky for you, the person driving likes the open road,” Melinda says pointedly, getting into the car and slamming the door. As she eases the car back onto the highway she starts to feel slightly comforted, despite the intensity of the whole situation, despite the fact that she knows the battle is far from done, that there’s still so much at stake. The sky stretches before her, curling into the distance, a road map as vast and endless as the one she’s so used to flying in – this time, a sweeping landscape into the unknown that feels more like home than a foreign pathway into thin air.

Melinda May pushes down harder on the gas pedal, rolls down the window, and drives towards the dawn.


End file.
